


Mrs. & Mrs. Sawyer-Danvers (Earth Thirty)

by brinshannara



Series: 52 Times Alex and Maggie Met [11]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Earth, Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, F/F, Multiverse, Sanvers Big Bang 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27143911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinshannara/pseuds/brinshannara
Summary: They met in Columbia by chance and fell madly in love with one another. Now, they have orders to kill each other.
Relationships: Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer
Series: 52 Times Alex and Maggie Met [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/987597
Comments: 46
Kudos: 121
Collections: Sanvers Big Bang | 2020





	Mrs. & Mrs. Sawyer-Danvers (Earth Thirty)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the long-awaited Earth 30, the Mr. & Mrs. Smith AU that [cosmicsawyer](https://twitter.com/cosmicsawyer) had requested ages ago. It's doubling as my Sanvers Big Bang 2020 entry. Artwork by the awesome [meanstoflourish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanstoflourish/pseuds/meanstoflourish)!

They were at the therapist’s office. Alex had argued, at great length, that they didn’t need to see a therapist. Her wife, Maggie, had argued that they did.

And so that’s how they were sitting in front of some straight white dude, after dealing with rush hour traffic in New York City, waiting for him to probe into their relationship. To say that Alex was displeased with her current situation would be a grand understatement.

“So,” the therapist, Dr. Rogers, said, after they sat down, “why don’t you let me know what brings you here?”

Alex scoffed aloud, making her reluctance known. “My wife.”

Maggie turned and shot her a look.

Dr. Rogers cleared his throat. “Is there a particular reason that Maggie booked this session?” he asked.

They sat there in silence.

“Okay, fine, I’ll go,” Alex said, taking charge of the situation, as usual. “This is really just a check-up, you know? Make sure everything’s running smoothly.”

“I see,” said the therapist.

“You know, we’ve been married for five years, and—”

“Six,” Maggie interjected.

Alex paused. “Five, six years.” She forced a smile and continued. “So, yeah, just a check-up.”

“Would you agree, Maggie?” Dr. Rogers asked.

Alex looked over at her wife and recognized one of her own forced smiles. “Yes, I would think that’s accurate.”

“All right, then. Let’s get into it here. On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you as a couple?”

“Eight,” Maggie answered, instantly, before Alex had even had a chance to think about her answer.

“Wait,” she said, “what’s the scale on? Is one miserable? Is ten happy? I need more context here.”

“Just try to respond instinctively,” Dr. Rogers encouraged her.

She wasn’t thrilled. That wasn’t helpful.

“Okay,” she sighed. “Ready?” she asked Maggie.

“Ready.”

“Eight,” they said, in unison.

It was a lie, of course. Alex wasn’t particularly happy and she didn’t think Maggie was, either. But she’d taken Maggie’s lead, even if it was a lie. What was the point of lying to a therapist? To keep up appearances? It was stupid. Seeing a therapist in the first place was stupid. She knew what the major problem was in their relationship. It wasn’t something some shrink could fix.

“And how often are you having sex?”

Alex stared at him, agog.

“I don’t understand the question,” Maggie said.

Alex glanced at her before returning her attention to the therapist. “Is this another one to ten thing?”

“Yeah,” Maggie chimed in, “is one _very little_ or is one _nothing_? Because, really, _zero_ should be nothing, right?”

“No, it’s not on a scale,” Dr. Rogers said, smiling. “Let’s rephrase. Have you had sex this week?”

“Including the weekend?” Alex asked.

“Sure.”

Alex wasn’t sure why she’d clarified things. They _hadn_ _’t_ had sex, not in a while. The inclusion of the weekend didn’t matter in the slightest. They both remained silent and the doctor nodded and made a note on his pad of paper.

“Describe how you met.”

“It was in Columbia,” Maggie offered.

“Bogotá,” Alex clarified.

Until the day she died, Alex knew she’d remember how they met, and their first night together. It was unforgettable. It had been five or six years ago and she’d been standing at the bar in the lobby of her hotel, having a beer, when the local authorities burst in.

_Five or six years ago_ _…_

_“Hey,” she said to the bartender, “que pasa?”_

_The bartender looked over at the group of armed men._ _“They are looking for solo travellers. Someone has shot the Barracuda.”_

_She blinked. That was news. That was her target. She nodded and turned to look at the local cops, who had been followed in by what looked like military troops. She was aware that she would stick out as a white woman. Worse, she was wearing slacks and a button-up, short-sleeved shirt. She emphatically was not wearing what the local women were wearing. And, she suspected, local women also didn_ _’t have a handgun hidden at the small of their back._

_One of the local cops looked her over and frowned. She held her breath._

_“Está sola?”_

_“Hm?” she asked, trying to buy time, while her right hand worked to release the safety on her gun._

_“Está sola?” he repeated, walking towards her._

_They both turned to the front door as another woman arrived at the hotel. She was absolutely gorgeous. Tan skin, dark hair and dark eyes, wearing a flowing white skirt and a matching top. Her dark hair was mostly loose, cascading down past her shoulders in thick, luxurious waves. Alex felt something in her chest. She_ _’d never seen the woman before, but she felt familiar, in a sense. Alex realized she was holding her breath, so she forced herself to exhale and draw in another, all the while, staring at the most beautiful woman she’d ever laid eyes on._

_“Está sola?” one of the armed men was asking her._

_The dark-haired woman was looking right at Alex._

_Alex took several steps forward._ _“No,” she said, “está bien.” She held out her hand and the dark-haired woman took it. “She’s with me.”_

_The men looked confused until one started to laugh and the rest of them suddenly understood. At least one of them started cat-calling._

_“Come with me,” she whispered to the other woman._

_Alex brought her directly to her suite. They_ _’d been followed by some of the armed men, who were clearly searching the rest of the hotel, and maybe hoping that the two women would invite them in. Alex closed and locked the door behind them and they both leaned against the double set of doors, listening for when it would be safe to leave the suite._

_“I’m Maggie, by the way,” she said._

_“Alex,” she replied, holding out her hand._

_Maggie took it in hers and they shook._ _“Nice to meet you, Alex,” she said, quietly._

_“The pleasure’s all mine,” Alex replied, mesmerized by the scent of the other woman, by the softness of her hand, by the sound of her voice. It was ridiculous. She didn’t know a damn thing about her and yet…_

_Once they were certain the authorities and military had left the hotel, they crept back out into the hallway. It was clear. They made their way downstairs to the outdoor restaurant and ordered some drinks and some food. It was mostly quiet. Alex, for her part, was still stunned by Maggie_ _’s beauty._

_Finally, they ordered a couple of shots of aguardiente, a local Columbian drink derived from sugar cane._

_“To dodging bullets,” Maggie said, smiling, holding her shot glass._

_“To dodging bullets,” Alex replied, also smiling._

_They downed their shots and Maggie stood._ _“Do you dance?” she asked, moving out over to the dance area in the center of the outdoor patio._

_Alex swallowed. She usually didn_ _’t dance, but she would absolutely dance with this vision of loveliness. She watched as Maggie tossed the remainder of her shot into one of the cooking barrels and saw the flames flare up as the alcohol hit it, and then saw Maggie staring at her, deep into her eyes, with a look of desire that had Alex completely helpless. As Maggie started to sway her hips to the music that was playing, Alex stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her waist, while Maggie’s arms slipped around her own neck._

_They teased one another, leaning in, but not quite far enough, before pulling back, tempting the other._

_As a thunderstorm rolled in, Maggie spun around and pressed her back up against Alex, the dance getting more explicit. Alex could feel Maggie_ _’s body pressing back against her own. It was a dance meant to arouse, to excite, and oh, Alex was lost in the movements, in the feelings._

_As the rain started, the two of them went back to their table, a half-empty liquor bottle seemingly abandoned by the other patrons who had fled indoors to avoid the weather. Alex sat down and took a swig of the liquor. Maggie straddled her lap and Alex offered her the bottle and she took a mouthful as well._

_It only took a moment before Alex leaned in carefully and kissed Maggie tentatively. Maggie_ _’s right arm slid up Alex’s shoulder and she cupped Alex’s neck in her hand, and they kissed harder, more thoroughly, more desperately._

_As the skies opened up and rain came pouring down, the two of them could hardly care less, so wrapped up were they in each other._

_They eventually pulled apart and, still out of breath, went back to Alex_ _’s suite. They took turns pulling off their own soaked clothing in the darkened suite and Maggie climbed into the bed as Alex lit a couple of candles before joining her. She wanted to see her curves, her body, her face, her smile, even her dimples._

_The next morning, Alex had snuck out of bed and pulled on her now dry clothing, and gone foraging for them. Coffee, some fruit, there wasn_ _’t much left._

_She came back to the room and saw Maggie sitting up in bed, the sheet pulled around her, and they smiled at one another._

_“Hiya, stranger,” Maggie ventured._

_“Hiya back,” Alex responded, locking the door behind her and making her way to the bed, with the coffee and the fruit and the morning paper._

_Alex stood at the balcony, gazing out at the city, when she realized Maggie had gotten out of bed, the sheet still wrapped around her. She_ _’d placed a flower behind her ear. When Maggie reached out to her, Alex pulled her close with her left arm and tossed her coffee cup to the floor to embrace her fully._

_Alex pulled away for a moment._ _“So you like me? Because that’s what I’m getting here…”_

_Maggie laughed and pulled her towards the bed._

_After the next several hours, Alex realized that being there, with Maggie, in bed, was the closest thing to paradise she_ _’d ever experienced. She didn’t want to imagine her life without Maggie in it._

“And we discovered we were both in New York,” Maggie said, snapping Alex out of her reverie.

“Uh, yeah, and we started dating,” Alex confirmed.

“How long did you date before you got married?”

Alex blinked and looked over at Maggie. She hadn’t the foggiest.

“She asked me to marry her before we’d known each other for two months,” Maggie said.

“Wow,” Dr. Rogers said, not hiding his surprise remotely well enough. “Short engagement too?”

“A couple of months,” Alex said.

“I see,” he said, scribbling down the information. “Maggie,” he said, “why did you book this appointment today?

She shrugged. “I thought we should check in.”

“Is there a particular reason?” he prodded.

“Well, the, uh, the lack of sex,” she said, “is one issue.”

“Alex, do you also feel that it’s an issue?”

She stared at him. How did this guy, this straight guy, have the nerve to inquire about their sex life? “I mean, I would be in favour of more sex, yes.”

“And Maggie?”

“I would.”

“So is it the kids?”

“We don’t have kids,” Alex said.

“Ah. Work, then?”

Alex tensed up, just a hair. Part of it was certainly her job. “Yeah, I, uh… I have a stressful job,” she said, “and so does Maggie. Anytime a computer goes down on Wall Street, she’s there, day or night. She’s like Batman for computers.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Maggie nodded.

“Do you get called out often?”

“Probably a couple of times a week in the evenings or the middle of the night,” Maggie admitted.

“And how does that make you feel, Alex?”

Maggie snorted.

“What?” Alex frowned.

“Nothing, sorry,” she said, “go on.”

“Well,” Alex said, clearing her throat, “I was just going to say that I’m out of town a lot for work.”

“I see,” said the doctor. “And what do you do for a living?”

“I’m in construction,” she said. “I handle some fairly large contracts around the world.”

“Mm hmm,” Dr. Rogers said, scribbling that down. “How long are you gone, typically?”

“Two days, generally,” she said. “Sometimes three.”

“Right,” Maggie agreed, “but she’s always tired when she gets back. I keep telling her she needs to rest and to recuperate, but those meetings and site tours and arguments with the subcontractors really take it out of her.”

Alex sighed. “I’m fine, honey,” she complained.

“Interesting,” the doctor said, adding to his notes.

She rolled her eyes at that. “Are you just taking down everything?” she asked.

“Much of it, yes,” he said, smiling kindly. “I’m trying to get an idea as to what your daily lives look like so I can better understand if there are some fundamental issues here that we can address or if they’re more circumstantial in nature.”

“Meaning?” Alex asked.

Maggie clicked her tongue. “What he means, _honey_ , is that he wants to try to figure out if we’re not well-suited to one another or if any possible difficulties are due to things like stress from work. Right, Doctor?”

“I perhaps wouldn’t have said it quite so candidly, but essentially that’s right, Maggie,” he said.

“Ah,” Alex said, blowing out a breath. “Gotcha.”

“Well, it seems our time is nearly up for today,” he said, glancing at the clock. “I’d like to see you both again next week. You can make an appointment with my assistant on your way out.”

“Great,” Alex said, standing. She couldn’t wait to get out of there.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Maggie said, shaking his hand.

Alex left the office feeling as though that was an hour wasted. She knew exactly what the problem was with her and Maggie. It was work. It was always going to be work.

***

Maggie was preparing dinner, as always. She had realized, quite early on, that Alex couldn’t cook worth a damn, that the smoke detector would always go off and the meal would always be ruined. As such, she’d volunteered to be the primary cook in the relationship. Of course, she couldn’t actually cook. The girls from I-Temp did the majority of the cooking and she’d essentially reheat things. Unfortunately, keeping up that lie had somehow meant that she was often relegated to the more stereotypically female role. While Alex would mow the lawn or fix something, it was on her to cook and clean and even decorate.

It was more than a little annoying. Still, they were quite well off and it allowed her to make decisions that she knew Alex wouldn’t be particularly interested in.

So when Alex came home, one rainy night, and she announced she’d gotten new curtains for the lounge area, Alex barely batted an eyelash before going straight into the lounge, no doubt to make herself a pre-dinner cocktail.

Maggie sighed and followed her in. “What do you think?”

“Hm?”

“The curtains,” she said.

“Oh. Huh.”

“They’re a little green,” Maggie admitted, “so we’ll probably want to reupholster the sofas, maybe get a new Persian rug.”

“Or,” Alex said, pouring out her shaken martini into her glass, “we could just keep the old stuff, not change a thing.”

She sighed. “We talked about this. You remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Alex said, eating one of the olives she’d added to her drink. “I remember because we said we’d wait.”

She sighed. Again. “If you don’t like them, we can take them back.” It was a challenge and she knew it.

Alex ducked her head to look at her directly, underneath the hanging lamp. “Fine. I don’t like them.”

She forced a smile. “You’ll get used to them.”

Maggie found herself at Dr. Rogers’ office, alone, the next week. Alex had already been to a solo session, grumbling about it all week.

“So what brings you here today, Maggie?” he asked, pen at the ready to scribble down most of what she was going to say.

She sighed, playing with her wedding ring with her left thumb.

“There’s this huge space between us, and it just keeps filling up with everything we don’t say to each other. What is that called?”

“Marriage,” he said, straight-faced.

“Seriously?” she asked. “Because if that’s true, then what the hell is wrong with you straight people?”

He shrugged. “What don’t you say to each other?”

She stared at her hand, fidgeting with her ring. There was work, obviously, but even the habits that came from her holding her cover had trickled down into their daily lives. Was it maybe the fact that she’d been lying to her for six years? Or was it the resentment that she’d taken on the more subservient role?

“What don’t I say? I don’t tell her to get the salt herself, that’s what I don’t say.”

He frowned.

“I make dinner. Every night, pretty much,” she said, lying. “I mean, we absolutely _do not_ want Alex to make it, because we’d just end up ordering pizza most nights if she did, but somehow, in this very not-straight relationship, I’ve picked up the more traditionally female activities while she’s doing the more stereotypically male activities. She putters around the house and fixes things, _if_ I nag her enough. But _I_ _’m_ the one who’s nagging. And cooking. Cleaning. Decorating.”

“And how does this include salt?”

She sighed. “So one night, last week, I made dinner. As usual.”

“Right.”

“And she comes home from work, makes herself a martini — not even asking if I want one. Also as usual.”

“Mm hmm.”

“And I’d decided to add something new to one of my regular side dishes. Typically, we have rice pilaf when we have pork, so I decided to spice it up a bit by adding peas to it.”

“And she didn’t notice?”

“No, she did, but then immediately dug into the pork chop and asked me to pass her the salt.”

The doctor looked confused. “And that’s bad?”

“Well, she didn’t even _try_ the rice and then asked for the salt, which was in the middle of the table.”

“Okay.”

“So if she wanted the salt, why should I be the one to fetch it for her?”

“I see.”

“Do you? I mean, if it’s equidistant from us, then why shouldn’t she get her own salt?” It was just logical to Maggie. She wouldn’t ask Alex to pass the salt if it was just as close to her as it was to her wife.

“And this relates to the rice pilaf how?”

She sighed, frustrated. “The rice is just part of it. The salt is just part of it.”

“How honest are you with her?”

Her first instinct was to say “not very”, but she knew that wouldn’t fly. “Pretty honest,” she lied, again. “It’s not like I _lie_ to her, or anything…” She cleared her throat. “We just, uh, have little secrets. Everybody has secrets, you know.”

She thought back to Sunday, when she’d had a work call. She’d known it was coming, she just hadn’t known when. Her mark’s associates had put out the call for a dominatrix and her people had intercepted it and so, while she was in the kitchen on Sunday, thawing some frozen dishes for the next couple of days, she’d gotten a call. Soon, she was in her office at home talking to a colleague and looking up the mission specs on her laptop. She’d sighed. She _hated_ the dominatrix cover.

_Last Sunday_ _…_

_Maggie slipped upstairs and changed into her rarely-used outfit, then was sure to put on a long, black trenchcoat. She was just tying up her belt when Alex startled her by making a noise in the bathroom._

_“Jesus,” she said. “Honey, you scared me.”_

_“Sorry, hon,” she replied. “I was just looking for, uh… are you going out?”_

_“Yeah, some dipshit crashed a server in a law firm downtown, ending the world as they know it. So yes.” She grabbed her handbag and pulled a headscarf out of her closet._

_“We promised the Colemans,” Alex reminded her, quietly._

_“I know,” she replied. “I’ll be there.” It was one of the many ridiculous little engagements in life that she had to bear in mind. She’d be stuck chatting with the other wives, while her own wife had been welcomed by the men in the neighbourhood as one of their own. More, she resented Alex’s insinuation that she’d forgotten about the Coleman’s cocktail party. She didn’t forget things, not like Alex._

_“Okay.”_

_“I’ll be in and out. Just a quickie,” she said, trying to reassure Alex, even while lying through her teeth._

_She took her car and made her way to the outskirts of town where a taxi was waiting for her. It took her to the Emery hotel, where her target, Marco Racin, was waiting for her._

_There was a lot of muscle. Her bag was rifled through and though the bodyguard raised an eyebrow at the handcuffs, he let her through. She walked through the outer room of the suite where the rest of the crew was playing backgammon and watching Jeopardy._

_“Martha Stewart,” she muttered under her breath, answering the question on the television correctly, as she was escorted to the inner room._

_After walking into the bedroom, she cocked her head at the bodyguard, effectively dismissing him. She closed and locked the door, before waiting for her mark to come out of the bathroom._

_She heard a loud gargling sound from the washroom and made a face. She braced herself and smiled demurely as the man walked out of the bathroom wearing a robe._

_He smiled lewdly and nodded at her, indicating she should disrobe._

_Keeping eye contact with him, she slid her hands down to her belt and undid the knot, pulling the coat apart and letting it drop to the floor, revealing a black corset and short skirt, with fishnet stockings, held up by straps attached to her garters._

_Watching Racin rake his eyes over her, he clearly enjoyed it. She pulled down the straps for her lacy black forearm sleeves, securing them around the middle fingers of each hand. Finally, she unpinned her hair and let it fall down to her shoulders, shaking her head to get the full effect._

_He disrobed, though he was at least wearing matching pajama bottoms, thankfully. She had him turn around and she secured his wrists behind his back with sturdy leather straps, then did the same with his ankles. She had him kneel and handcuffed the leather straps around his wrists to the ones around his ankles. He could struggle, a lot, even have some leeway, but he wouldn_ _’t be able to get out of the restraints. Using her riding crop, she traced down his muscular back. “Have you been a bad boy?” she asked, in that low tone that drove people wild._

_“Yes,” he whispered._

_“Mm hmm?” She whipped him lightly._

_“You know what happens to bad boys?” She walked around him and whipped him lightly on the back again. He moaned. “They get punished,” she said, firmly._

_“Oh, yeah,” he breathed, “punish me.”_

_She whipped him twice more, eliciting more moans of arousal, of excitement. She_ _’d had enough. She stepped behind him and, in her low, breathy voice, asked if he’d been selling big guns to bad people._

_“Huh?”_

_And with that, she_ _’d snapped his neck, killing him instantly._

_His body collapsed to the floor and she knew time was of the essence. She grabbed her trenchcoat and put it back on, while the guards outside knocked and called for their boss._

_“Mr. Racin? Mr. Racin, are you okay?”_

_She checked her cell phone for the time and rolled her eyes._ _“Ugh, Colemans.” She was running late._

_She grabbed her handbag and strode out onto the balcony._

_“He’s down!” she heard one of the goons call, then heard gunshots at the door. She had to hurry._

_She pulled one of the handles from the bag and attached it securely to the light fixture on the wall. She ran up the steps to the edge of the balcony and, holding tightly to her bag, jumped. She hurtled down the side of the building, landing lightly right in front of the hotel_ _’s entrance, where she asked the doorman for the taxi. He obliged and she got into the taxi, safely on her way before anyone really understood what was happening._

“What kind of secrets?” Dr. Rogers probed.

“Oh, you know. The usual.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“I loathe our neighbourhood gatherings,” she said, getting as close to the truth about that as she could. “We had one on the weekend and it was awful.”

“So why participate?”

She shrugged. “It’s what you do in the suburbs, isn’t it? You and your spouse go off to all the little gatherings and put up with things and smile for a couple of hours, drink as much as you can, then go home and swear you’ll never go again. Right?”

He shrugged. “That does sound somewhat familiar. Why don’t you enjoy them?”

“Because I’m viewed as the lady in the couple,” she sighed. “Alex hangs out with all the husbands, talking stocks, business, world events, sports, and I’m stuck talking about window dressing and babies and soap operas.”

“Have you tried to integrate with the men?”

“I did, at first, but the women seem to have adopted me and the men have adopted Alex.”

“Are there any other same-sex couples that are in your neighbourhood?”

She shook her head. “None that go to the Coleman’s parties.”

“So what was particularly bad about this weekend?”

“Well, I, uh, I had a work thing, so I was already running late, and Alex had gone to a sports bar to put a little money on the game. At least she got lucky, I guess. And then we showed up at the neighbour’s and I ended up holding a baby, of all things.” She made a face.

“Not a fan?”

“Not particularly. Neither Alex nor I have much interest in children. At least not at this stage of our lives.”

“I see,” he said, writing that down. “Any particular reason why?”

She had to resist telling him that a kid with an assassin for a mother probably wasn’t going to be a great idea, so instead, she sighed, and talked about her other main concern. “I’m going to be in the mother role. Alex is going to want me to have the kid, I’m sure, and she’s going to end up being the dad, of sorts.”

“More of that gender-role thing, then?”

She nodded.

“Have you talked to her about it?”

“Sometimes. She says that I’m just girlier than she is, that it makes sense.”

“And what do you say about that?”

“I say that’s bullshit, because we’re two women and things should be divided more equally. But she’s the one who makes more money, she’s the one who plays sports, she’s the one who’s the big deal at work.” She sighed. “And I… like to wear dresses and I care about whether or not the drapes match the furniture. I’m the one who makes sure we’re not eating junk every day for each meal.”

“It sounds to me as though you’ve more or less fallen into these roles naturally.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Or maybe not,” he backtracked. “Still, it sounds as though you’re replicating society’s expectations within your own home. Is that something you need to do?”

She paused. “Maybe you have a point.”

***

Alex arrived at work and collected paperwork for a cover from the secretary, blueprints from Louis, and then Eddie came out of the bathroom.

“Mornin’, pal,” he said.

“How’re you doing?” she asked, as she unlocked her office door.

“Same old, same old,” Eddie replied. “People need killin’.” He started to walk into his office and stopped. “Oh, Al, I might have a little get-together this weekend, at my house. Barbecue, no ladies, dudes only, it’s gonna be awesome.”

Alex paused and turned back to him. “So am I invited?”

“What do you mean, are you invited, of course you’re invited.”

“I don’t know if you’ve forgotten this, Eddie, but I’m definitely a lady.”

He snorted. “Nah, you don’t count, Al. You’re one of the dudes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’ll talk to the missus.”

“You wanna use my cell phone? Maybe you wanna give her a call in case you wanna decide to scratch your ass!” he called, as Alex walked into her office and, rolling her eyes — again — shut the door behind her.

“You live with your mother!” she called back.

“Why would you bring her into this? She happens to be a first-class lady! And! I don’t have to check in with her every time I wanna do something! She cooks, cleans, makes me snacks… I’m the dumb guy?”

Alex sighed. “Dick,” she muttered, activating the shutters and bringing up the hidden computer console. She rolled over to the console and then rolled back, to get her coffee.

The console activated, three screens opening in front of her.

“Alex Sawyer-Danvers,” she said, enunciating clearly for the microphones.

As expected, her login was accepted.

“Hello, Alex,” came a computerized voice.

“Good morning, Atlanta.”

“Quite the body count this week,” she said, the kills scrolling on the left-most screen. “We have a priority one, so I need your expertise.”

She sat up. A priority one? This was going to be interesting.

“The target’s name is Benjamin Danz, AKA _The Tank_.” The right-most screen showed Danz’s picture. This scrawny kid was called _The Tank_? Alex snorted.

“He’s a direct threat to the firm,” Atlanta continued. “DIA custody. They’re making a ground-to-air handoff to heli, 10 miles north of the Mexican border. I need you to make sure the target doesn’t change hands.”

She nodded. It seemed like a relatively straight-forward job. And, she smiled, she might get to use her newest toy.

***

It was hot. Maggie was sitting in what little shade there was, given the angle of the sun. She was in the ruins of an old cabin, checking in on everything. She picked up her fancy binoculars and checked on the convoy. They were still probably five to seven minutes out of the expected zone.

She checked her setup. All the charges were in place. When the convoy arrived, everything in the zone would blow and, in case there were any survivors, she could easily target them with the long-range rifle she had with her.

Everything was going according to plan.

That is, until the buggy came roaring down a dirt road towards the zone. She grabbed her binoculars again and groaned. “Oh, come on.”

She scanned over to watch the convoy, still heading towards the zone.

“You getting this?” she asked.

“Affirmative,” Jasmine replied. “Is it a threat?”

Maggie watched as the idiot civilian in their dune buggy swerved and took out one of her carefully-placed pylons.

“Countdown’s initiated!” Jasmine called through comms. “Convoy is not in the zone yet.”

“There’s an idiot in the field. He’s gonna blow the charges,” she barked into her her handset.

She pulled out a fistful of wires from the complicated setup she had with her and watched on her laptop as the countdown stopped at 21 seconds. With a sigh, she took out the binoculars again and zoomed in on the civilian. It was some skinny guy, wearing a baseball hat and goggles, with quite a loud short-sleeved shirt and shorts. He was examining the tire on his buggy.

“You gotta be kidding me,” she sighed. “Civilians.” She zoomed in with her binoculars on the rapidly-approaching convey. This idiot was going to ruin everything.

She turned the binoculars back to the guy and squinted, not sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing, until HQ confirmed it.

“We’re picking up a weapon signature.”

“Shit, not a civilian!” she retorted, putting the binoculars down and picking up her long-range rifle. The idiot in the dune buggy was carrying a rocket launcher on his shoulder. She took careful aim and fired twice, certain she’d hit him in the chest. He went down, falling backwards, dropping his weapon.

Meanwhile, the convey was entering the zone, resuming the countdown. That was fine by Maggie. The guy could get blown up for all she cared. She turned back to check to see if he was still alive after the shots and she frowned as she saw him move and then aim his rocket launcher right at her.

She leapt up and ran for it, abandoning all her equipment and escaping from the ruins of the cabin right before the explosion hit. The charges in the field went off shortly afterwards and she used the cover to get on her motorcycle and get out of there. Surely they’d missed their target, thanks to the jackass in the buggy. She cursed all the way back to civilization.

Maggie was still incensed by the time she got back to headquarters after a flight on the private jet back to New York. People were attempting to treat her minor injuries as she strode through the command center. “I wanna know who that asshole is,” she demanded. “Get me that tape.”

“Maggie.”

“Get. Me. That. Tape!” she repeated.

“Maggie!”

“What?” she asked, exasperated.

“It’s Father,” her associate said, handing her a cell phone.

Maggie stopped and took a breath before taking the phone. This wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“The FBI secured the package. The window’s closed, sir,” she said. It was always best to be straightforward with Father. Like Maggie herself, Father took no shit.

“I told you we couldn’t afford any mistakes on this one.”

“There was another player.” It wasn’t an excuse, it was the truth.

“We _do not_ leave witnesses. If this player IDed you… You know the rules. You have 48 hours to clean the scene, Maggie.”

“Looking forward to it, sir,” she said. She ended the call and handed the phone back to her associate. “All right, we have a new target. Let’s find out who he is.”

Within a couple of hours, they had all the tapes pulled and everyone was working on it as a priority. Maggie gazed at one of the screens, looking at the grainy image. There was something familiar about the guy. She stared at the image as it clicked. That wasn’t a guy.

“Why don’t you both go make some coffee?” she asked her associates, effectively dismissing them. If her hunch was correct, and she thought it was, she didn’t want them to figure it out, at least not just yet.

As soon as her associates left, Maggie sat down in the newly-vacated seat and started examining the tape in more detail. It was definitely a woman. A slender woman, wearing slightly too-baggy clothes, perhaps to make her look like a man. There was something about the way she walked to the buggy, something about her mannerisms.

A phone rang in the background.

“Maggie, it’s your wife. She’s back from Atlanta and she wants to know about dinner.”

Maggie’s eyes widened at the screen, but she maintained her cool façade and she turned to Jasmine. “Tell her… dinner’s at seven.”

She returned her attention to the screen as Jasmine relayed the message to Alex.

The idiot in the buggy had been Alex. She was certain of it. The real question now was: had Alex identified her? Or did Alex know ahead of time that it had been Maggie she’d nearly killed with a rocket launcher? She had to be prepared for Alex to know, but also had to act above suspicion in case she didn’t know. It would be one hell of a balancing act until she figured out what her wife knew.

As she went home, she thought about what this could mean. If Alex was also an assassin or agent, did that mean that she could stop lying to Alex? She snorted, softly, as she drove down her street. If Alex was also in her line of work, they were obviously working for opposing agencies. Their marriage, such as it was, would be over. Father had instructed her to clean things up and that meant taking Alex out if there was any belief whatsoever that Alex had identified her.

Maggie shook her head. Maybe Alex didn’t know. She exhaled as she pulled into her driveway. Regardless of whether or not she knew, it was time to put on an act and play the good little wife.

***

Alex’s head was spinning as she pulled into her driveway. Maggie was a spy. Maggie had shot her in the chest, which would have killed her if she hadn’t been wearing a vest. She had almost blown Maggie away with a rocket launcher. The chip from the destroyed laptop in the desert had confirmed it and yet she still could hardly believe it.

Did she know, though? Alex pulled into the garage and pulled on her wedding band as the door shut. Had she been able to identify Alex as her adversary? She didn’t know what to expect as she entered the house carefully. Her mind was whirring, wondering where Maggie was, what she was doing, if she was going to blow Alex away as soon as she encountered her… Alex entered from the side door, looking around the kitchen. Dinner had been made for sure — there were potatoes and tomatoes and other foods still on the counter, as well as used pots and pans. Dinner was, after all, at seven, and it was just about that time. But where was Maggie?

She ventured in further, looking around for Maggie, taking off her coat. As she tossed it on a chair and turned the corner into the kitchen proper, she stopped short as she came face to face with her wife. She forced her heart rate to slow down. Maggie was standing there, holding two martinis.

“Perfect timing,” she purred.

“As always,” she replied, not missing a beat. She approached her wife. “This is a nice surprise,” she said as Maggie handed her one of the martinis.

“I hope so,” Maggie said. “You’re home early.”

“I missed you,” Alex answered smoothly.

“I missed you too,” she said, and Alex believed her, at least for a moment. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” she said.

Maggie walked towards the dining room and Alex stood there, looking at the kitchen counter. Next to the empty jar of pickles was a container of Drano with the cap on askew. She blinked, staring at it. There could have been a clog in the kitchen sink, of course, but Alex looked down at her martini, the one Maggie had handed her. She followed Maggie towards the dining room and ditched the liquid from the glass, dumping it into a nearby plant. If Maggie was on to her, she’d be out to get her. Nothing could be trusted.

Maggie held Alex’s chair out for her.

“You only break these out for special occasions,” she said.

“This is a special occasion.”

Alex hesitated and finally approached the chair, putting her glass down before sitting in her seat.

Maggie grabbed the toothpick with the three olives on it from Alex’s glass and brought it to her lips, capturing two of them with her teeth.

Alex’s mind whirred. _Maybe it_ _’s okay. Maybe she’s not on to me. Maybe I’m just being a paranoid idiot._

Maggie headed back to the kitchen and Alex looked around before sliding one of the knives at her place setting into the inner pocket of her blazer. Paranoid or not, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Her wife returned shortly with the platter carrying the main course.

“Mmm. Pot roast. My favourite.”

A serving fork was stuck in the top of the roast and Maggie set the platter down before picking up the carving knife. Alex leapt to her feet, eager to get the sharp utensils away from Maggie.

“Allow me, sweetheart,” she said. “Been on your feet all day.”

“Thank you,” Maggie replied, heading to the other side of the table, as Alex started carving the roast.

“Sure.”

Without warning, Maggie brandished a long, jagged knife… and started cutting the bread. Alex eyed her suspiciously, particularly the careful placement of the knife near her own place at the table.

Alex brought the carving knife and serving fork back to her own seat, after serving them each a slice.

“So how’s work?” she asked, trying to get a conversation going.

“Actually, we had a little trouble with a commission,” Maggie admitted, serving herself some green beans.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Double booking with another firm.”

Alex paused. Was that code? Clearly both Maggie’s organization and her own had been instructed to handle the Tank. Was she obliquely referring to them both being after the same target? “Huh,” she said, thoughtfully.

“Green beans?” Maggie asked, approaching her with the serving bowl.

“No, thank you,” she said.

“You’ll have some,” Maggie insisted, serving her a healthy portion. Alex made a mental note not to touch the beans. Maybe it was the beans that had been tainted with Drano.

“Well, I hope everything worked out okay,” she said.

“It hasn’t yet,” Maggie said, taking off her apron and dropping it on a chair, “but it will,” she said, smiling sweetly.

Alex tried not to react. She _had_ to know, didn’t she? That’s why she was dropping all of these lines with double meanings. Maybe she knew, but did she know Alex knew? Alex started cutting at her roast. “Pot roast is my favourite,” she repeated. “Sweetheart, could you pass the salt?” As soon as she said the words, she saw the salt and pepper shakers placed right near her own plate. She chuckled and liberally added salt as she watched Maggie across the table. She took a large bite of the pot roast and began chewing.

She watched as Maggie took a bite of the green beans and her mind started working again. Of course, she should have let Maggie eat first to see what was safe. If anything was going to be unsafe to eat, it would be the roast. Maggie obviously made it to tempt her to eat it, since it was her favourite. She continued chewing, trying to discern if there were any odd tastes, but she couldn’t tell. Her eyes moved to the decorative wall of mirrored tiles and noted that several tiles were showing a reflection of a poison symbol from one container, then others showed another container that looked like it said “killer power” on it… Her chewing slowed and she pulled lightly at the neck of her sweater and her shirt. “Tried something new?” she asked around the mouthful of roast.

“Mm hmm!” Maggie hummed affirmatively.

Alex smiled and knew she was going to have to get the roast out of her mouth without causing too much suspicion. She made a show of swallowing, though the large piece of roast was carefully tucked inside her cheek. She picked up her napkin and made a show of wiping her mouth, carefully pushing the chewed food out of her mouth and into the napkin.

“How was Atlanta?”

 _You wanna play? Then let_ _’s play,_ Alex thought. “Had a few problems ourselves. Some figures didn’t add up.” She dropped the napkin on the table and stood.

“Big deal?”

“Life or death,” she replied. “Wine?” She reached for Maggie’s glass and gave it a good pour before handing it back to Maggie.

While Maggie was putting her glass down on the right side of the table, Alex dropped the wine bottle.

And her wife caught it. She fucking caught it.

Their eyes met and Maggie, perhaps realizing her error, let the bottle slide out of her fingers, letting it fall to the floor, covering the light carpet in red wine.

“I got it,” Alex said, already moving.

“I’ll get a towel,” Maggie said, heading to the kitchen.

Alex stripped off her blazer and ducked into her study and grabbed one of the many weapons she had stored around the house. She took a moment to attach a suppressor before coming back out of the study and aiming the gun into the kitchen. She looked around for Maggie, but there was no sign of her. “Mags?” She stepped into the kitchen, the gun in front of her, ready to fire at her wife. “Honey?”

That’s when she heard the squeal of tires. Maggie was running.

***

She’d gone to headquarters after the chase. After hitting Alex with the car, after leaving her in the car while she dove out of it. It was the only place she could think of to go. It was a secure space. She couldn’t go home, of course. So she’d come to headquarters and called Jasmine who had brought alcohol.

Maggie was sitting there on the floor, halfway to drunk, still in shock.

“Okay,” Jasmine was saying, “here’s the upside. You don’t love her.”

“No,” Maggie almost slurred before sipping at yet another shot.

“You’ll kill her, and nobody’s better at that than you are.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“And then it’ll be over,” Jas said, nodding.

She nodded and finished her shot.

A few minutes later, Jas was heading up the stairs, on her way home. “You okay?” she called.

‘Yeah,” Maggie called back.

“Okay, good night.”

“Night.”

She was curled up with a blanket and the mostly empty bottle of Johnnie Walker. Her mind was racing. She couldn’t stop thinking about Alex. Alex in Columbia. Alex at the fair. Alex at their wedding. Alex at home. Alex in bed. Alex. Alex. Alex. She was everywhere.

“You don’t love her,” she said, trying to convince herself.

But she did. She knew she did. Even knowing that Alex was also a spy or agent of some sort, she knew she still loved her. They had more in common now than she’d ever known, and now she had to kill her.

She swallowed.

“You don’t love her,” she repeated, tears escaping. “You don’t love her.”

She cried herself into a restless sleep, knowing what she had to do.

The next day, she and the girls went back to the house. She didn’t think Alex would be there, but she sure as hell wasn’t going back without a squad as backup. The operation was to gather any intel on Alex and her organization, as much as possible.

The team found a few things hidden here and there, mostly weapons. The odd handgun, some ammunition, that sort of thing. It was in the shed that they’d hit the jackpot, having discovered a secret bunker. Passports, alias documentation, cash, dozens of weapons, tons of ammo. She smiled coldly as her team packed it all away. It would piss Alex off extensively when she came back to retrieve anything of importance here. She smiled, thinking about the look on Alex’s face as she realized her precious bunker had been cleaned out.

Aside from that, they hadn’t found much of worth. The house had been tidied back up and they’d gone back to headquarters.

“Target profile is our main priority. Utilize all means necessary. Phone taps, credit cards, audio scan civilian frequencies.”

“With what, Maggie?”

She rummaged around the conference table and found her own answering machine and hit play. “You’ve reached the Sawyer-Danvers residence. We can’t take your call, but leave a message after the tone and we’ll get back to you,” Alex’s voice recited.

“Find her.”

“Uh, Maggie?”

“What?” she asked, quietly, trying to restrain herself from shouting.

“I think I found her.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

She blinked and looked at the screen. There was a security breach in progress.

“Heat sensor breach in the perimeter,” someone called out.

“Commence scanning all floors,” the computer system announced.

The phone started ringing. It was Alex. It had to be. Maggie hit the speaker phone button. “I thought I told you not to bother me at the office, _honey_.”

“Careful, sweetheart, I can push the button anytime from anywhere.”

“Baby, you couldn’t find the button with both hands and a map.” It sounded good, even if it was a bald-faced lie.

“Last warning,” Alex said. “You need to disappear.”

“No.”

“Now,” she emphasized.

“You really expect me to roll over and play dead?”

“Well, you should be used to it after five years of marriage,” Alex shot back.

“Six. And I’m not leaving,” she stated.

“Uh huh,” Alex said. “Anywhere. Anytime.”

The system beeped. They’d found Alex.

“Evacuate Plan C,” Maggie ordered and the office flew into action, erasing all their data and wiping their servers clean. Once that was done, everyone grabbed a gun with a grappling hook and broke the glass on the appropriate windows. They locked in the ends of their grappling lines to a sturdy hook mechanism and took aim, firing almost in unison at the building across the street. They all zip lined over, except for Maggie, who heard something. It was Alex. She knew it was.

A moment later, Alex came sliding down a rope after busting through a large exhaust duct. She pulled a gun and aimed it directly at Maggie. Maggie smiled over at her and took her zip line attachment out of the grappling mechanism and threw herself out the window and along the line to safety. She turned to look back at Alex.

“Chickenshit!” Alex yelled.

She smiled and made sure Alex saw it before getting into the building to safety.

***

Alex still couldn’t believe Maggie had blown the elevator to hell, thinking she was inside of it. It made her really glad she’d mixed up the signals to make Maggie think she was in the other elevator car, but she still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that Maggie had blown the charge. Had she really misjudged her that badly? Had the past five years really meant nothing?

She’d kept a low profile after the car dropped the 70 floors to the ground, and had ended up sneaking out of the building over an hour later. She’d met up with Eddie at the office and got some intel — Maggie had been seen entering their favourite restaurant. The one where Alex had proposed to her. Alex changed her clothes, putting on the nice suit she kept at the office, just in case, and headed to the restaurant.

Alex saw her right away, seated alone at a table for two. She approached her from behind and refilled her champagne glass, her hand grasping Maggie’s with the glass in it. She knew Maggie would recognize her touch, but couldn’t help adding a soft “Madame.”

She looked up.

“Thought of a number of lines for this moment,” she grinned. “Thought I’d just drop in. Hey, doll, thanks for giving me the shaft.”

“Nice. So what did you decide?”

“I want a divorce.”

“I like it,” Maggie nodded. “You proposed to me here so it has agreeable symmetry.”

“Coat, ma’am?” someone asked, taking Alex’s coat.

“May I sit?” Alex asked, pulling out the other chair.

“No.”

She sat down anyway, then noticed Maggie pulling out a weapon and hiding it under her napkin. Turnabout was fair play, so Alex did the same.

“Champagne, ma’am?” the waiter asked.

“No. Champagne’s for celebrating,” she replied. “I’ll have a martini.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Maggie said, answering the waiter before he had a chance to ask.

Once the waiter left, Maggie leaned in. “So what do you want, Alex?”

“We have an unusual problem, Maggie.” She took a moment. “You obviously want me dead. And I’m less and less concerned for your well-being. So what do we do?” She looked at her wife’s lips, then back up to her eyes. “Do we shoot it out here? Hope for the best?”

“Mmm, well, that would be a shame,” Maggie replied, in a low voice, “because they’d probably ask me to leave once you’re dead.” She smiled. It wasn’t a pretty smile. It was a dangerous smile. And yet Alex found it wildly attractive. The fact that her wife of five years was also a talented and skilled agent of some sort… it was appealing. It was too bad their agencies wanted the other dead. If they had been coworkers instead of adversaries, Alex would have been dating her from the start, for sure.

She leaned in. “Dance with me,” she murmured.

Maggie looked surprised. “You don’t dance,” she said.

“That was just part of my cover, sweetheart,” Alex replied. She stood and held out a hand. Maggie took it.

“Was sloth part of it, too?”

Alex gave her a look and twisted Maggie’s hand as they took the floor.

“Ow,” she muttered.

Alex swung her around and held her close.

“You always lead,” Maggie complained.

“I’m taller,” Alex replied.

Maggie snorted. “Typical. This is the kind of bullshit that you don’t think twice about and is all I can think about.”

“You think this story’s gonna have a happy ending?” Alex asked, ignoring Maggie’s complaint. She moved them into position to start the tango.

“Happy endings are just stories that haven’t finished yet.”

“Dark,” remarked Alex. She never would have guessed that her wife wasn’t the generally happy woman she’d known for five years. Pressed together, Alex started dancing forward, Maggie taking large steps back to keep up. It was intoxicating to be close to her, everything out in the open between them. Still, Maggie did want her dead… So Alex backed her up into a mirror attached to a large pillar — hard.

“Oof,” Maggie groaned. It had been hard enough to crack the mirror.

Alex pulled her back upright and they danced closely for another couple of moments before Alex dipped her and sent her hand running across her backside, searching for a hidden weapon.

“Satisfied?” Maggie asked.

“Not for years,” she lied. The sex was decent. It wasn’t great, but it was adequate. She pulled her up and her hand went to Maggie’s outer thigh, pulling out a small knife from her thigh holster. Hardly looking at her target, Alex casually whipped it across the room, sticking into another pillar by a couple at a table, who were completely oblivious.

It was Maggie’s turn to grope her for a weapon. She draped her hand over Alex’s chest, feeling for something in her bra.

“It’s all me, babe,” she grinned.

Maggie dropped to her knees and hiked up Alex’s pant leg, pulling out a small revolver from her ankle holster, tossing it away. Alex hoisted her up.

“Why is it you think we failed?” Maggie asked. “Because we were leading separate lives? Or was it all the lying that did us in?”

Alex thought about it. “I have a theory,” she admitted. “Newly formed.”

“I’m breathless to hear it,” Maggie said, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

“You killed us.”

“Provocative.”

“You approached our marriage like a job, to be reconned, planned and executed.”

“And you avoided it,” she quipped.

“What do you care, if I was just a cover?” And there it was. That was the question. Was Alex just a cover? Had she been a mark for Maggie? Or had there been something real between them?

“Who said you were just a cover?” Maggie asked and Alex stared at her, unable to discern if she was telling the truth or not.

“Wasn’t I?” she asked.

“Wasn’t _I_?” countered Maggie.

They twirled around together a couple more times and then Maggie pulled away. “I have to… Excuse me.” She headed for the stairs.

“No exits up there, Maggie,” she called. Alex watched her hurry up the steps towards the restrooms. “Be cold, Alex, she’s a liar,” she murmured to herself. Still, she looked upset as she made her way up the stairs. “Be super cold,” she muttered.

Shortly after Maggie reached the second floor and was obscured from sight, several people started coming down the stairs, hurriedly. Something was wrong.

And then the bomb went off. Chaos. Pandemonium. Of course. Maggie had caused the distraction to be able to get out of the building. With all the people streaming down the stairs, Alex couldn’t get upstairs. She looked around… and saw Maggie in the crowd heading outdoors. She was clever.

Alex gave chase, finally exiting the restaurant, but unable to find her wife. She looked around wildly, moving across the sidewalk, trying to get a better view through the crowds.

“You know that you’re ticking?” an older man said to her.

Alex’s eyes widened. She ducked her head down, straining to listen. She _was_ ticking. Quickly, she pulled off her jacket and stuffed it into a nearby mailbox. “Get back! Get back!” she called out to everyone on the sidewalk, just in time as there was a boom within the mailbox, belching fire and letters on to the street.

She sighed. It would be really keen if her wife would stop trying to kill her.

***

Maggie was driving across the bridge, out of the city, on her way to the house to pick up a few things before going back to her organization’s new secure location. Assuming she’d survived, Alex would go by the house sooner or later, so it was best if she could stop there first, maybe even set fire to it once she was done…

The cell phone rang, displaying a number she didn’t recognize. It had to be Alex, of course.

“Maggie Sawyer-Danvers,” she answered.

“That’s the second time you’ve tried to kill me.” Alex’s voice came through the car speakers.

“Oh, come on, it was just a little bomb,” she countered.

“I want you to know, I’m going home to burn everything I ever bought you.”

She snorted. “I’ll race you there, baby.” She disconnected the call. This was going to be it. This was the final showdown. Either Alex would live or she would. She exhaled and tried to focus on the road.

It was virtually impossible, of course. The truth was, she didn’t _want_ to kill Alex. There just wasn’t any way around it, though. Father had given her instructions. She’d been identified, obviously. She _had_ to tie up the loose ends. And the biggest of those was her wife.

A few minutes later, the phone rang again. It was the same number as before.

“You there yet?” she answered, snarkily.

“First time we met, what was your first thought?” Alex asked, gently.

No, she wasn’t going to get pulled into some sentimental conversation. Alex was really good at just pushing away a lot of the bullshit between them and just going right for the throat. At least emotionally speaking. She wasn’t going to play the game.

“You tell me,” she challenged, trying to buy herself time to get her head back in the game.

“I thought…” Alex trailed off. She could almost hear her scoffing at herself. “I thought you looked like Christmas morning.” She took a breath. “And I knew right then that I didn’t want to imagine my life without you in it. I don’t know how else to say it.”

“And why are you telling me this now?” she asked, coldly. It had to be a play. Didn’t it? It was all bullshit, wasn’t it?

“Guess in the end,” Alex said, “you start thinking about the beginning.” She paused. “So there it is. I thought you should know.” Another pause. “So how about it, Maggie? Hm?”

She took a deep breath. “I thought…” She paused. She swallowed. She exhaled sharply. She couldn’t tell the truth, could she? “I thought that you were the most beautiful mark I’d ever seen.”

“So it was all business, yeah?” Alex asked, her voice slightly cracking.

“All business,” she retorted.

“From the go.”

“Cold, hard math,” she confirmed, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Thank you,” Alex said. “That’s what I needed to know.”

There was a pregnant pause. Maggie knew Alex wanted her to say something, wanted her to deny it, to tell her she’d lied, that she hadn’t been a mark, that they had truly fallen in love with each other. She resisted. Her eyes teared up, but she resisted.

“Okay,” she said, and hit the end call button. The truth of it was that the moment she’d first seen Alex in that hotel lobby in Columbia, she’d latched on to her because it would alleviate suspicion that she’d just taken out her target. But she was wildly attracted to her. She was gorgeous. She wasn’t a mark. She was a beautiful woman she’d coincidentally encountered and stuck with to avoid suspicion from the locals… and had fallen madly in love with over the next few weeks.

And now, she had to kill her, or be killed by her.

She slammed her head back into the seat cushion. How could she have been so stupid to think she could ever have a normal relationship, a normal marriage?

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ She was trained to compartmentalize. She was trained to not let her feelings get in the way of a job.

But Alex… Alex was her _wife_.

***

Maggie just barely beat Alex into the house and promptly loaded up. She grabbed her favourite ultrashort 12-gauge shotgun and her UMP-45. She’d heard Alex talking with one of the neighbours outside and had scoffed. It was foolish. She’d given away her position at the front of the house. Maggie took the opportunity to head to the side door that opened off the kitchen. She opened the door, looked around with her weapon and then shut and locked the door. If Alex wanted to get in, she’d have to break in, alerting Maggie to her location.

She prowled through the house, shutting off lights as she did, her submachine gun in hand. She was ready.

Maggie made her way upstairs. If Alex was going to break in, it would most likely be on the ground floor, so she would do best to have the high ground. She positioned herself in the hallway so she could get a good shot at anyone coming towards the bottom of the stairs… and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long. In the darkened hall, she saw a flash of light by the edge of the wall leading to the hallway and the kitchen. Alex was almost certainly right behind the wall. She took a breath and fired a shot into the wall, ejected the shell and fired again. She ejected the second shell. “You still alive, baby?” she called.

Maggie heard a groan and some movement and frowned. Had she actually hit her? She gazed at the hole in the wall and then ducked as she saw Alex stick her gun through it, taking shots. She rolled down the stairs to the landing and let loose another shotgun blast. She crossed the hallway, switching to her machine gun and shooting at Alex as she gave herself cover to hide behind a wall and prepare herself for the next attack. Armed with both the shotgun and the submachine gun, she moved to the side of the stairs and looked around. She didn’t see Alex. And then, suddenly, she heard the crash of something ceramic just on the other side of the wall. She hefted the shotgun up and took a shot, hearing Alex grunt as she likely moved out of the way. She kept shooting through the wall, over and over again, following the sound of Alex’s movement.

She advanced into the kitchen, her SMG as her primary weapon, letting dozens of bullets fly into the fridge door that Alex was using for protection. Alex threw herself from behind the rapidly-deteriorating fridge door to behind the kitchen island. She kept laying down fire, keeping Alex trapped on the other side of the counter, until a shiny object came flying at her face. It was a cleaver that stuck itself in the door frame.

“Your aim’s as bad as your cooking, sweetheart,” Alex called. “And that’s saying something!”

She ignored the attempted insult as she reloaded. She raised the gun and aimed down behind the counter and started firing… and then saw the spark, which caught on the gas pouring into the kitchen, from where Alex had certainly pulled out the line from the stove. She threw herself down through the doorway.

The fireball passed overhead and then Alex was there, picking her up and hitting her. They’d never sparred before. She was almost curious to see how Alex would do. She ducked as Alex punched and left a hole in the wall. They struggled together for a few minutes before Alex threw her into the living room.

“Come on, honey,” Alex was saying in the most condescending tone. “Come to momma.”

Maggie grabbed a large metal vase and wrapped it in the remains of a tablecloth. She whipped it at Alex’s head, connecting solidly, then looped the cloth around Alex’s neck to pull Alex to her. She head butted her and kicked her backwards into the cabinet where they kept all the good glassware.

She grinned as Alex crumpled to the ground. “Who’s your momma now?”

She ran for her shotgun, but Alex made it to her feet and gave chase and it was tossed away.

They ended up in the living room, trading blows, throwing each other against furniture, breaking their couch while they were at it. Finally, bloodied and bruised, they staggered to their feet and eyed once another.

Then, in unison, they both dove over the remains of the couch. Maggie slid her arm up the chimney to grab one of her stashed guns, while Alex lunged for Maggie’s shotgun. They turned the weapons on each other simultaneously. Maggie was outgunned. Even if she could get a shot off before Alex, Alex could still pull the trigger and, at that range, the shotgun blast would be devastating.

It was over. Alex was going to win. She’d blow Maggie away and that would be the end of things. In a way, it would be a relief. At least she wouldn’t have to kill her wife.

They stared at one another, looking each other in the eye. And then, unexpectedly, Alex’s entire face softened and she looked down. “Can’t do it,” she muttered, and she lowered the shotgun.

“Don’t! Come on!” Maggie yelled at her. She wasn’t going to do this. Neither of them could walk away. One of them had to end it. And she… she wasn’t going to be able to be the one to do it. So she yelled at Alex to make her do it, to make her take the shot. “Come on!” she screamed, eyes filled with tears and her voice cracking.

“You want it? It’s yours,” Alex said, quietly.

Her gun still pointing at Alex, she tried to hold back the tears. She couldn’t do it.

Alex brushed the gun aside and dropped her own. In two steps, she had her hands on her face and was kissing her. She dropped her gun.

They’d had sex before, obviously. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands of times, but it had never been like this, not even their first night together. This was raw and passionate, even desperate. It was hard and it was rough. Alex tore at her dress, while she ripped at Alex’s shirt, aching to feel her wife’s skin against hers. Their faces pressed together, teeth bumping against each other, then scraping across newly-revealed skin. When Alex pulled off her bra and bent to lavish attention on her breasts, she thought she might combust when Alex used her teeth on her.

Alex pushed her roughly against the piano, before dropping to her knees in front of her. Maggie gasped as Alex ran her hands up along the backs of her legs, under the remains of her dress, cupping her ass. She pulled down Maggie’s panties and she stepped out of them quickly, leaving them on the floor. Alex flipped her dress up and leaned in.

As soon as Alex’s tongue touched her bare skin, she groaned and put both of her hands on the back of Alex’s head, encouraging her to be firmer. She writhed against her, trying for more contact. Alex teased her mercilessly for several minutes before finally, thank God, increasing her pressure, and sliding her fingers inside. Maggie threw her head back, moaning, unable to keep quiet. Every breath, gasp, moan, groan, seemed to egg Alex on and Maggie was soon balanced on the precipice for a too-long moment before Alex finally let her fall over the edge, at last. She came hard, shuddering, crying out. Her legs turned to jelly and Alex helped her down to the floor, where they both lay next to each other for a few moments, breathing hard, panting.

“Jesus,” Maggie gasped, once she had enough breath in her lungs to speak. “Why did we never do that before?”

Alex chuckled and rolled over on to her side to look at her. “What, the whole trying to kill each other thing?” Her eyes twinkled with mirth.

Maggie snorted. “The other thing, you nerd.”

She grinned widely. “I didn’t know you liked it… like that.”

“Well, now you know,” she purred, turning over and languidly running her left hand down the buttons of Alex’s shirt. “Do _you_ like it like that?”

Alex swallowed audibly. “Yeah,” she rasped.

“Good,” Maggie smiled. She got up on her knees and pushed Alex on to her back before straddling her. “Because it’s my turn, now.”

Maggie considered Alex’s shirt and slipped her fingers into the gap between buttons about halfway down the shirt, and pulled her hands apart, quickly. The buttons few everywhere, exposing Alex’s torso, and Maggie cupped Alex’s breasts in her hands, over the white, lacy bra she wore. “I always liked this one,” she remarked, before she pulled it up and over Alex’s breasts, rather than ripping it. She leaned down and grasped one breast in her hand and teased the other with her tongue and her lips and then her teeth, before alternating sides. Alex brought her hands up to Maggie’s thighs and she stopped, reaching down and grabbing her wrists and raising her arms over Alex’s head and pinning them down. “Uh, uh,” she said, shaking her head. “My turn.”

She released Alex’s arms. “Stay,” she warned, as she slid down her wife’s body. She ended up straddling Alex’s thighs and deftly worked to unbutton her pants. She shifted, kneeling next to Alex. “Up,” she commanded, and Alex raised her hips, allowing Maggie to pull down the dress slacks and her own underwear.

Maggie leaned in and kissed Alex firmly, tasting herself on her wife’s lips. Her right hand slipped down Alex’s torso and between her legs, teasingly touching her, enjoying how Alex bucked her hips.

She moved down, heaping attention on Alex’s breasts, using her lips and tongue and teeth to great effect as she pressed inside of her wife. The gasp that sounded from Alex’s lips was all the encouragement she needed as she moved faster, harder. Alex brought her right arm down to hold Maggie closer and Maggie stopped all her movement, much to Alex’s dismay, judging by the stifled moan.

“I said _stay_ ,” she murmured.

Alex’s response was a whimper as Maggie carefully put Alex’s arm back up over her head. “You gonna stay, babe?”

“Uh huh,” she mewled.

“Good girl,” she praised her. “And I know you’ll keep being a good girl for me,” Maggie smiled, resuming her efforts.

“Oh God,” Alex cried out.

“Or I’ll stop again.”

“I’ll be good.”

She smiled again and was rougher, more dominant than she normally was, and Alex seemed to love that she wasn’t being gentle as usual. Within moments, Alex was whining almost non-stop until she suddenly went silent and still for a long moment before crying out Maggie’s name, her whole body stiffening.

Maggie continued her motions, though at a less frenetic pace, and gently brought Alex down from her orgasm. As Alex slowly caught her breath, Maggie withdrew and wrapped her arm around her wife’s waist.

“Hiya, stranger,” she quipped, harkening back to their first morning together.

“Hiya back,” Alex smiled. “So, uh, you like me? Because that’s what I’m getting here…”

Maggie laughed. It was a real, true laugh. For the first time since the op in the desert, Maggie felt as though everything would be okay, even if she had absolutely no idea _how_. Just that it would be okay.

***

Alex had lost track of how many times they’d had sex in the ruins of their house. Everything was a disaster. There was broken glass everywhere. The fridge was ruined and most of the food from the fridge was, too. Alex was clad only in a t-shirt and boxers, while Maggie wore the remnants of Alex’s dress shirt, with Alex’s tie belted around her waist. Together, they scavenged for food in the destroyed kitchen. They had orange juice in glasses that had sharp, jagged edges along most of them — they were the least damaged of all their glassware.

They sat in the hallway, eating what they’d managed to find from the kitchen, trading stories about their operations.

“You didn’t hear me that night the chopper dropped me off for our anniversary dinner?” It had been their first anniversary dinner and Alex had been enraged because she was going to be late, so she’d risked going by helicopter to the cabin they’d rented for the weekend, directly from the op she’d been on.

_Four or five years ago_ _…_

_Alex was in the helicopter and was pulling off her flight suit to reveal the purple dress she was going to wear to dinner with her wife. It hugged her figure and showed off her arms. Though Alex generally felt more comfortable in slacks and a blazer, she had to admit that dressing up for the occasion felt nice. Dinner had been catered, Maggie was waiting and_ _… And, well, she was going to be late, even with the ride in the chopper._

_“How do I look?” she asked Eddie, as the helicopter approached the cabin._

_“Your dress is wrinkled, dude,” Eddie replied._

_“What? Shit.” She looked down and tried to smooth out any imperfections in the dress._

_“Just teasing, bro, you look great.”_

_“Ass,” she replied, punching him in the arm._

_“Ow! What, I said you look great!”_

_“You’re still an ass.”_

_The helicopter landed and Alex grabbed the bonsai tree and the bottle of scotch she_ _’d purchased for Maggie before awkwardly jumping down on to the grass in her heels. She walked briskly away from the helicopter and watched it fly away, back towards the city. She took her time walking along the long path to the cabin, hoping that Maggie wouldn’t make any connection between her arrival and the sounds of the helicopter._

_She let herself into the cabin. It was lit with dozens of candles, and sitting there, at the dining table, in a slinky black dress, was her wife. She was a vision. Her long, dark hair was down and she hadn_ _’t straightened out the natural waves. The dress was tight, leaving little to the imagination, especially the sides, where her skin was clearly visible between the scant stitches of fabric._

_“You clean up nice,” Maggie murmured._

_“You do too, with the shoes and the hair and all the…” She trailed off. “Happy anniversary, Mrs. Sawyer-Danvers,” she said, approaching her and holding out the tree and the scotch._

_“Happy anniversary,” Maggie replied, standing. She wrapped her arms around Alex’s neck and leaned up to kiss her thoroughly._

_Alex had the presence of mind to put the gifts down on the table before circling Maggie_ _’s waist with her arms._

“No,” Maggie said, shaking her head.

“No?” Alex frowned. How was that possible? While, at the time, she thought she’d gotten away with it, there was no way her wife hadn’t realized at the time, not if she was a trained agent.

Maggie chuckled. “Percussion grenades. I was partially deaf that night.”

Alex laughed. She certainly hadn’t counted on that. “I’m slightly colour-blind,” she offered.

“Hm?”

“Retinal scarring.”

“I can’t feel anything in these three fingers,” she added, holding up the outer-most fingers of one of her hands. “What was your worst injury after a job?”

“Three ribs, broken eye socket, perforated eardrum,” Alex said.

Maggie sucked air in through her teeth. “Ooh,” she said.

Alex nodded.

There was a pause and Maggie looked up at her from where she was laying on the floor. “You ever have trouble sleeping after?”

She paused. She could lie and say yes, make herself seem like a normal human being and not some kind of sociopath. But she really didn’t want to lie. She was tired of lying. If Maggie didn’t want to be with her, then let it be for the truth. “Nope,” she replied.

“Yeah, me neither.”

Alex grinned.

“I was never in the Peace Corps,” Maggie remarked.

“What? No!” Alex said. “I really liked that about you!”

“Maybe this honesty thing isn’t such a good idea.”

“Well, I didn’t go to MIT.”

“Really?”

“Really. I went to Stanford. Biochemistry major,” she admitted.

“You? A biochemistry major?”

‘What? It’s reputable!”

Maggie just snorted. “Just never really saw you as a nerd.”

“Well, I have to tell, you, I never really liked your cooking,” Alex jabbed back. “It’s just not your gift.”

“Babe, I’ve never cooked a day in my life.”

She just stared at her, blinking, trying to make sense of it.

“The I-Temp girls did all the cooking for us.”

“Web of lies!” Alex laughed.

“What, like you’re not keeping things from me?”

She paused. “Well, I guess I should probably tell you, I was married once before.”

Maggie sat up and punched her in the shoulder and slapped at her bare legs.

“What is wrong with you?!” Alex asked, fending off the attacks.

“You’re what’s wrong with me,” she growled.

“It was a drunken Vegas thing!”

“Oh, yeah, that’s better,” she said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, punctuating each word with another hit. “That’s so much better. Great.”

“Ow, stop it, cut it out!” Alex complained.

“What’s her name and social security number?”

“No,” Alex said in a warning tone, “you’re not gonna kill her.”

Maggie sat back hard against the wall, arms folded across her chest.

“You know, sweetheart, you’re being a bit hypocritical. It’s not like you’re some beacon of truth.”

Maggie froze at that and Alex knew she’d hit pay dirt.

She sighed. “You know my parents?”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Well, they died when I was five. I’m an orphan.”

She blinked. “Then who was that kindly fellow who gave you away at our wedding??”

“A paid actor.”

It all made sense to her. “I _knew_ it!”

“I know,” Maggie muttered.

“I _said_ I had seen your dad in _Mission: Impossible_!”

“I know.” She sighed. “We’re gonna have to redo every conversation we’ve ever had, aren’t we?” Maggie asked.

Alex nodded and considered. “I’m Jewish,” she said.

Maggie grinned. “Catholic.”

And that’s when things went to hell. A smoke grenade crashed through the window, billowing yellow smoke. Ducking to avoid any other windows, they ended up past the kitchen in the reading nook. There were laser sights criss-crossing through the windows, so they kept low behind the bases of some decorative pillars.

Alex caught Maggie’s eye and started making signs to her to go to the basement.

Maggie shook her head and started communicating another plan.

Alex frowned and declined. She was in the midst of trying to re-explain things to Maggie when the house was breached. She scrambled and crossed over to Maggie and pulled her down to the basement.

Once downstairs, Alex started going through the toy train sets, looking for her stash of weapons, while Maggie got them their rain boots, as both of them were still in a relative state of undress.

“I was given 48 hours to take you out,” Maggie admitted, stepping into her boots.

“Same,” Alex nodded. She pulled out a Smith & Wesson .38 and handed it to Maggie as she pulled out a .45 USP Elite and loaded it up.

“Seriously?” Maggie asked.

“What?”

“Why do I get the girl gun?”

Alex blinked at her. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. You get the bigger gun, the more powerful one. The one for a man. And I get this shitty .38? Just because I like to be girly doesn’t mean I can’t handle a big gun.”

She exhaled. This was not the time to get into the gender role argument Maggie enjoyed. She held out her hand and Maggie placed the .38 in it, while taking the USP Elite Alex offered up. “That’s better,” Maggie said.

“I didn’t give you the smaller gun on purpose,” Alex muttered as she stood.

Maggie looked at her. “And I suppose you don’t treat me like the woman in the relationship on purpose, either?”

“You _are_ a woman in this relationship!”

“So are you! But you always take on all the stereotypically male roles.”

“Do you _really_ think this is the time and place to discuss gender roles in our marriage?”

Maggie opened her mouth and closed it. “Later,” she promised.

Alex nodded. “Later.”

The door to the basement opened and they turned, as one, guns pointed up the stairs. It was a remote-controlled robot, carrying something… It was a metallic sphere of some sort. It dropped it and it bounced down the stairs, stopping by Alex’s foot. It was an explosive device. Alex kicked it away and watched, in horror, as it bounced to the oil tank. Alex and Maggie ran for the outside door, flinging it open and shooting at anything that moved as they ran.

The entire house blew up, the explosion throwing them to the ground, and obliterating who knows how many company agents at the same time.

Alex’s boot was on fire and she shook at it to put it out. Flaming pieces of debris fluttered delicately to the ground as what remained of the house shuddered and collapsed.

“We need a car,” Maggie said, still staring at what was left of their home.

“Colemans,” Alex said. “That guy has had my barbecue set for months.”

***

Several hours later, they were at a cheap motel, trying to figure out what to do, given they were both clearly targets. They’d stopped at a safe house of Maggie’s and picked up some stuff from one of Alex’s, before arriving at the motel and changing out of the Colemans’ bowling clothes.

“I have a boat standing by in La Paz,” Maggie was saying as she loaded yet another gun.

“I’ve got a cargo drop in the Atlas Mountains,” Alex replied. “So where do you want to go?”

Maggie paused. "Are we… are we for sure sticking together?"

Alex frowned. "Aren't we? Why wouldn't we be?"

"It would be harder to hide together."

"But not impossible," Alex pointed out. "I mean, one person on your boat or two, that's not a huge difference. And the same with my place in the mountains."

She looked at Alex, her brow furrowed. "So what's the plan? We both go to my boat or your mountains and then what?"

"Lay low. Let the heat blow over."

"For how long? A year? Three? Ten? Do you really think we'll ever be able to be seen in public again?"

"Does it matter?" Alex asked. "Do we need to rejoin society?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You realize what you're saying?"

"What?"

"You're saying that you potentially want to hide out, with me, for the next couple of decades?"

"Yes! What… what's wrong with that?"

Maggie sat heavily on the bed. "Nothing," she murmured, "I just didn't know that's what you wanted."

She frowned. "I didn't kill you."

"Not wanting me dead isn't the same as… as that."

"Wait, you just think I didn't want you dead?"

Maggie shrugged. "Yeah?"

"Even after all the sex?"

She nodded.

Alex walked over to the bed and sat next to her, one leg pulled up on the bed between them so that she could face Maggie as she spoke. "I didn't kill you because I'm in love with you."

She inhaled sharply and looked up at Alex. Her face was so familiar, yet at the same time, so different. It was softer than it had ever been, she decided. Was it because they were finally able to talk openly and candidly? "Alex," she started.

"What? You're going to say I don't know you, right? How could I possibly be in love with you if so much of what's been between us has been a lie?"

She tilted her head to the side. Alex was a lot more perceptive than she'd ever given her credit for, apparently. "Yes."

"And you're wondering how on earth you could love me if I've been lying to you for five years."

"Six."

"Five, six years, whatever."

She sighed. "Yes."

"If anything, Mags, I am more in love with you now than I was two days ago. I'm impressed by you. I'm in awe of you. I'm inspired by you."

She raised an eyebrow, skeptically. "Really?"

"You made just two mistakes over the last two days."

"What were they?"

"Catching--"

"--the wine bottle, right." She rolled her eyes at herself. "And?"

"And not killing me when you had the chance. Why didn't you?" Alex pressed.

She sighed. "You're my wife," she said, quietly. "My _wife_. And, unlike you, I've never been married before."

"Touché," Alex replied. She reached out and took Maggie's hand in both of hers. "But is that all it was? Some sort of loyalty to me because we're married?"

She swallowed and shook her head. "No."

"So let's do it," Alex said, earnestly. "Let's run away and spend the rest of our lives together."

"Alex…" she said, quietly, a note of protest in her voice.

"What? Why not?"

She sighed. "Is that how you want to live? In hiding? Forever? Never visit another big city again? Never make any other lasting connections?"

"I want you," Alex said, firmly, gripping her hands. "You. Me. Us." She swallowed. "I don't want to imagine my life without you in it." She chuckled. "Especially now that I know how much we have in common. How brilliant you are. How talented you are." She smiled. "What's your number?"

"My… oh. Uh. Well, what's yours?"

She shrugged. "I don't keep track, really. Best guess is high 50s, low 60s. What about you?"

"312," she answered, trying not to laugh at the look of shock on Alex's face.

"312?!"

"Yep."

"But how?"

"Many of them were two at once," she shrugged.

"See, you're amazing," Alex gushed. "God. Yes, I want to be with you. I want to get to know you. Have all of those conversations over again."

Maggie squeezed her hands and stood, letting Alex’s hands go. She walked to the door of the motel room and looked out the peephole out of habit. "Alex. It's stupid. We're going to be on the run, living in hiding, for the rest of our lives."

"And you don't want to do that. Not with me." Alex looked up at her from the bed, eyes glistening.

"I'm saying that it's stupid. It's what, you and me against the world? Do we really stand a chance?"

"Well, with 312 kills under your belt, I'd say so," she muttered.

Maggie inhaled deeply, slowly, trying to calm herself. "Alex."

"Yeah?"

"I want to be with you."

"So let's do it!"

She laughed. "God, you're so impulsive."

"And you're not at all," she pointed out. "You plan everything."

"There's nothing wrong with a good plan," she argued.

"But you never do anything impulsive or spontaneous."

She sighed. "Okay, that's true."

"So let's do it. Let's do this. Together. Let's just go."

"I want to be with you, Alex, but I don't think being stuck with you is going to be healthy for either of us."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that, if our marriage is going to last, we shouldn't put it under more stress than necessary."

"Meaning?"

She sighed. "Meaning we probably shouldn't be on the run as we get to know each other all over again."

Alex considered that. Maggie was interested to see her reaction. It was clear that Alex was far more intelligent than she'd ever given her credit for. "Okay," she agreed, "so what's the plan, then?"

Maggie walked back to the bed and picked up another gun, loading the clip into it. "It's got to be our agencies after us, right?"

Alex shrugged. “I guess?”

"Think about it. They knew where we lived. I bet they even set us up to encounter each other in the desert."

"Oh, come on, that's going too far," Alex said.

"Is it? I shot you in the chest, but you were wearing a vest, and you fired a rocket launcher at me, but I got out in time. Then, they gave us 48 hours to finish the job."

Alex frowned. "They want at least one of us dead."

"Right. And if we're not going to oblige, then we may as well show them that they don't want to mess with the Sawyer-Danvers ladies." She pushed a clip into another weapon. "What do you say?"

"I'm in," she said, instantly. "Ride or die."

***

Later, they would find out that they’d been trailed from the house by a lone survivor of the explosion, who had spread the word to their organizations that they were still alive. They’d been in the motel, putting on their body armour, loading up with their veritable arsenal, when they’d heard a helicopter outside.

They’d loaded up and ran for it. A motel wasn’t the idea place for a shootout, but there was a department store across the road.

That was how they found themselves hiding in a display with soil and fertilizer bags, with countless enemies encroaching upon their hideout. They’d already taken out at least 20 agents, by Alex’s count, but there would be dozens more by now. It didn’t help that Maggie had taken a bullet across her side, or that Maggie had had to put a makeshift tourniquet around Alex’s left bicep because she’d also been grazed by a shot.

Maggie peered out of their makeshift hideout, through one of the many bullet holes.

“How’s it look?” Alex asked, reloading a couple of guns.

Her wife sat back down next to her. “Piece of cake,” she said, flatly.

Alex nodded, knowingly. They weren’t going to get out of this, that’s what she was saying.

“Bet that boat in La Paz is looking pretty good right now,” she remarked.

Maggie quirked a grin, just long enough for her dimple on that cheek to show up. “Eh, it’s rainy this time of year anyway.”

She smiled at her wife’s words.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here with you,” Maggie admitted. “Ride or die.”

Alex reached out and cupped her cheek and gently kissed her, perhaps for the last time. “If we get out of this alive, I promise we’ll revisit all the stereotypical gender role stuff.”

Maggie chuckled and punched Alex in her injured arm.

“Ow!”

“So you don’t forget.”

“Deal,” Alex smiled. Together, they stood and left their shelter, guns blazing.

***

Five weeks later, they were back in Dr. Rogers' office. They’d taken out over a hundred agents in under twenty-four hours and so their agencies had wisely offered them both what they called “retirement packages”. The packages included an agreement that said that so long as the two of them did not take up their prior activities, they would be left alone in peace. It was an amenable agreement, and the two of them were able to retire from their organizations without further consequences.

Meanwhile, their insurance company was paying them out for the destruction of the house, as the oil tank had been deemed faulty.

They’d spent the last five weeks recuperating and were in the process of arguing over the decor in the new house they’d just purchased. Alex had kept her promise and they were splitting things more equitably in their household. That meant that both of them were involved in the more stereotypically womanly decisions, such as the window dressing in the living room, while Maggie took on more of the so-called manly chores, like mowing the lawn.

They both attempted to cook and both decided that they’d have to hire a cook because neither of them could cook particularly well.

“I’m interested in the progress you’ve made in the last few weeks,” Dr. Rogers was saying.

“Uh, doing all right, aren’t we?” Alex asked Maggie, who was looking back at her, smiling. “I’m not gonna lie, there were times when I wanted to…” She made a strangling motion with her hands. “Kill her, but, uh…”

“Likewise,” Maggie added.

“Couldn’t take the shot,” Alex grinned.

“That’s a good sign,” the doctor noted.

“Who’d have thought?” Alex asked.

“Sometimes you have to battle through.”

“That’s marriage, right?” Maggie added.

“Yeah, take your best shot, and…” Alex trailed off, looking over at Maggie.

“Oh, that reminds me, we’re redoing the house!”

“Yes, we are,” Alex confirmed, the two of them looking at the doctor.

“And how’s that going?”

“We’re arguing about it,” Maggie said, with a smile. “Which means that she’s not just leaving it up to me.”

“I told you, I told you we’d split things more equitably, _honey_.”

“You did, _sweetheart_ ,” she replied.

“That’s all very promising,” Dr. Rogers smiled. “You know, though, there will always be challenges. Threats out there.”

Alex tried not to snort. “Yep.”

“But you can handle it,” he added, “together.”

“So far,” Alex said.

“Yes, we ca—” Maggie stopped and turned to her, frowning. “ _So far?_ ” She started laughing. “What the hell’s that mean?”

“I’m leaving room for the unknown!” Alex said, defending herself.

“So far,” Maggie repeated again, mockingly. But Alex knew it was in good fun. Over the last few weeks, she’d gotten to know her wife quite well. She had a quick wit, a sarcastic streak and was shockingly clever. Alex loved it. Loved _her_.

“And you feel that your relationship styles are more conducive to this—”

“Ask us the sex question,” Alex interrupted.

Maggie put her face in her palm. “Oh my God, _Alex_.”

“Ten,” Alex mouthed, flashing all ten of her fingers, while Maggie’s face was hidden. She grinned widely. They’d come a long way from their first session with the doctor. Alex reached out and grabbed her wife’s hand in hers and brought it to her lips. “I love you, Mrs. Sawyer-Danvers.”

“I love you too, Mrs. Sawyer-Danvers,” Maggie smiled.


End file.
